


These Problems Aside

by camwolfe



Series: The Water Can't Drown Me [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Chronic Pain, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camwolfe/pseuds/camwolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's life is, in general, pretty damn great. Chronic pain isn't something that he's used to dealing with quite yet, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Problems Aside

**Author's Note:**

> One day I'll write something that doesn't have "angst" as a tag, but it is not this day. 
> 
> A quick warning for painkiller use and the beginnings of painkiller addiction. Stay clear if that's going to be difficult for you to read!
> 
> This isn't a happy story. I WARNED YOU
> 
> Title from "King and Lionheart" by Of Monsters and Men.

Bucky was completely fine.

Well, no, he wasn’t _completely_ fine. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that. He realized and recognized that he had some minor limitations, yes. He couldn’t drink too much coffee, he couldn’t go to clubs because of the flashing strobe lights, he couldn’t go too long without sleep. He _definitely_ couldn’t play any contact sports due to the risk of getting another head injury.

But other than that, he was fine. He worked full time now, and he was making pretty good money. Sure, his job could be kind of boring sometimes, but he was good at it and he liked his coworkers. He also liked having enough money left over at the end of the month to buy silly things like new Xbox games or painting supplies for Steve.

He didn’t get see his siblings as often as he’d like, but he saw them at least once a week and sometimes more. His mom also insisted that he and Steve come for dinner every Wednesday night, even though that meant they had to actually eat healthy food for once. Gross kale salads aside, it was nice to laze around in his mother’s house while someone else did the cooking and dishes. The kids were head over heels in love with the new dog, too. Bucky was no longer allowed to come by without bringing Sergeant along. Bucky was pretty sure that the kids loved Sergeant more than they loved him, at this point.

He and Steve were good, too. Sure, they fought some times. It was inevitable for two people who lived in the same house and spent that much time together to squabble sometimes. They were usually pretty good at solving conflict quickly, though, and it rarely escalated beyond an irritated complaint. Usually, if Bucky did something that annoyed Steve, Steve would just explain why it annoyed him and they’d compromise and move on (and vice-versa). But aside from that, they got along great. Steve had finally made it into med school, although there were still a few months before it actually started. He was still working with Natasha down at the martial arts center, which didn’t pay as well as Bucky’s job but Steve liked it anyway.

And so, with all of this combined, Bucky was pretty happy with his life. Steve occasionally brought up the idea that maybe Bucky should see a therapist to deal with his ‘trauma’ and ‘ongoing medical issues’. Bucky, of course, either shot down this idea immediately or ignored it completely. He didn’t need therapy.

 He didn’t have anything against it on principle. He knew that it had been very helpful for his siblings. But really, he was fine. He didn’t have nightmares, he didn’t have flashbacks, and he didn’t have anything else on the list of PTSD symptoms that he found on Steve’s computer that one time. He really, genuinely thought that talking to someone about all of it would just dredge up old issues and cause more harm than good.

The ongoing medical issues part? Well, that was a different story. He, his family, his friends, his doctors, and Steve all had different opinions on it. Steve just worried too much. Bucky didn’t see his mom often enough for her to really have any sort of idea of the medical problems he had. Natasha was too nosy, and Clint just went along with whatever he did. Bucky followed his doctors’ advice, he really did. He stayed away from the things they told him to stay away from, and did the things they said to do. He got enough fresh air and exercise every day, he slept for at least nine hours a night, and he took days off work if he felt he needed to.

However, he was still only twenty-one and sometimes he got frustrated at having to spend all of his time sitting calmly and quietly at home on the couch like an elderly person. So, when all of his coworkers invited him out to their favourite bar on a Friday night, of course he went with them.

The bar was fun. It had a friendly atmosphere, and everyone there was having a good time. Bucky wasn’t _really_ supposed to be drinking, but he figured a few beers couldn’t hurt.

He and some of his coworkers were crowded around the pool table. They’d long since abandoned playing the actual game, and now were playing something of their own creation. It vaguely involved taking a shot every time somebody sank a shot. They thought they were very clever.

Bucky made his way back to the bar. He wasn’t doing shots, but he was a few beers in and everything was light and pleasantly fuzzy.

“Bucky!” Amelia shouted. “Get me a whiskey sour!”

“Get your own whiskey sour!” Bucky yelled back. “I’m already getting Sally a vodka-cran!”

Sally smirked at Amelia and nearly hit Martin with her pool cue.

Bucky got the drinks and made his way back to the pool table. He’d just sank another shot and finished of his own beer, and was cracking up as everyone groaned and took their shots.

“Bucky?” someone said from behind him.

Bucky turned around, setting his beer down on the edge of the pool table.

Clint was standing in front of him, his eyebrows raised.

“Clint!” Bucky said happily. “Hey, man! What’re you doing here?”

Clint stared at him. “Are you drinking?”

Bucky frowned. “Uh, hello to you too.”

“You aren’t supposed to drink,” Clint said. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Come on,” Bucky said impatiently. “It’s just a few beers.”

Clint, who was usually the most laid-back person Bucky knew, was now crossing his arms and scowling. “You aren’t even supposed to have one. It’s bad for your head.”

Bucky scowled back. “I’m fine.”

“Why aren’t you supposed to drink?” Amelia said, stumbling over and using a pool cue for balance. “Are you okay?”

Bucky groaned. “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Clint said. Bucky glared at him.

“You’re sure?” Amelia asked warily. They’d now caught the attention of Bucky’s other coworkers, who had paused in their pool game to stare.

“Yes,” Bucky said firmly. He turned back to Clint, just in time to see Clint typing something on his phone.

“Hey, no,” he said, grabbing Clint’s arm and hauling him through the crowded bar. Clint at least waited until they were out of sight from Bucky’s coworkers before yanking his arm out of Bucky’s grip.

“Who are you texting?” Bucky asked.

Clint frowned at him and deliberately hit send on the message. “Nat.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What are you telling her?”

“I’m telling her that you’re drinking.”

“Clint!” Bucky said indignantly. “Why the absolute fuck would you do that?”

“Because you’re being an idiot!”

Bucky scowled, his heart rate starting to rise. “It’s doesn’t matter if I am or not, Clint. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, it is my business,” Clint snapped back. “I’ve spent enough hours of my life sitting in your hospital room, Bucky, and I sure as hell don’t want to do that again – “

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And having a few beers after work isn’t going to send me back to the hospital – “

“You don’t know that!”

“And even if it was, you have no right to fucking text Natasha and tell her! Neither of you have anything to do with this.”

“Oh yeah,” Clint said dismissively. “Yeah, we’re such horrible friends to be concerned about you. How dare we.”

“Fuck off,” Bucky snapped. “Jesus, Clint, I was having one good night- “

“Yeah, well, you’re just lucky I’m the one who ran into you,” Clint yelled back. “Nat and Steve are supposed to meet me here after they’re done at work. That would have gone over _really_ well if they showed up and saw you stumbling around drunk – “

“I’m not drunk!”

“You’re gonna be if you keep drinking at that rate,” Clint said, crossing his arms.

“It’s none of your business,” Bucky repeated.

Clint groaned. “Why can’t you understand this? Normally I wouldn’t have a problem with you doing whatever you want with your life, Bucky, but you’re going to hurt yourself doing stuff like this and – “

Bucky turned around and walked out of the bar.

He heard Clint yelling after him, but Bucky ignored it. He only made it half a block before Clint caught up with him.

“Come on, Bucky,” Clint said impatiently as he jumped into Bucky’s path. “I wasn’t trying to piss you off.”

Bucky reluctantly came to a halt, glaring at him. “Do you think I don’t feel bad about all of you having to sit in the hospital with me?”

“No,” Clint said uncertainly.

“Do you genuinely think that I don’t sit up at night thinking about it?” Bucky snapped. “If I could pay all of you back for it, I would, all right? I don’t like being the person that everyone worries about all the time. I don’t like thinking about the amount of stress that I caused you all.”

“You didn’t – “ Clint said helplessly.

“I know I did,” Bucky said. “I don’t want to go back to the hospital, Clint. I know what I’m doing. Having a few beers isn’t going to hurt me.”

Clint sighed. At that exact moment, his phone started to ring. Clint winced guilty, and Bucky groaned.

“Is that Nat?”

Clint pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Um, yeah.”

Bucky’s phone immediately started to ring as well. He knew without even looking that it was Steve.

“You see what I mean, Clint?” Bucky said. “I just… I’m sick of being the goddamn burden all the time, okay?”

“You’re not!” Clint protested.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I am, and we both know it. I just want you guys to not have to worry about me so much.”

Clint sighed. “I gotta answer the phone. Nat will kill me otherwise.”

Bucky was too tired to argue anymore. “I’m going back inside.”

He trudged back into the bar, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket and knowing full well that Steve and Natasha were now probably freaking out about the possible negative ramifications of Bucky consuming alcohol. They spent so much of their time worrying about him, and it really wasn’t necessary.

 

Well, Bucky told himself that it wasn’t necessary.

As he’d promised, he was completely fine with the alcohol. It was usually insignificant, dumb things that gave him trouble.

It was Natasha’s birthday a week later. They’d all promised to go out to her favourite bar and restaurant to celebrate, and Bucky was looking forward to it.

He’d gotten home a few hours before Steve’s shift ended, and he’d had a snack and then jumped in the shower. His head was pounding, but it did that every day all the time and therefore was nothing new. He turned the heat in the shower up as high as it would go, hoping that it would relax the tense muscles in his shoulders and back and get rid of some of the tension from the pain.

His head swam a little as he got out of the shower. He made it into the bedroom and hastily threw his clothes on, planning on going downstairs to get a drink of water.

He took two steps down the hallway towards the stairs, and then his vision turned grey and sparkly. He sat down on the floor as quickly as he could. Moments later, his vision darkened completely and he felt himself slump back onto the floor.

 

He woke up to Sergeant enthusiastically liking his face. Bucky groaned and gently pushed the dog backwards.

“Thanks, bud,” he mumbled, wiping dog saliva off of his face. Sergeant looked relieved to see Bucky awake, and happily laid down next to him right there on the floor.

Bucky knew better than to try and get up. He laid on his back on the cold hardwood floor and stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how much time had passed. His hair was almost dry now, and so it had to have been a fair amount of time.

Sure enough, he heard the sound of a key turning in the door a few minutes later.

“Hey!” Steve called cheerfully as he came in. “Bucky?”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but another wave of dizziness swamped him and he closed it again in fear of throwing up instead of speaking.

“Bucky? Sergeant?” Steve called again. Sergeant stirred from where he lay next to Bucky, scrambling up and running to the top of the stairs.

Sergeant barked at Steve, wagging his tail furiously.

“What are you doing up there?” Bucky heard Steve say. “Aren’t you going to come down here and say hi to me?”

Sergeant barked again and didn’t move.

“Bucky?” Steve called again.

“’M up here,” Bucky managed to mumble.

Steve’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. He paused when he reached the hallway, his face falling.

“Hey,” Bucky said, and tried to smile.

Steve sighed and sat down next to him. Sergeant licked the side of Steve’s face, and Steve petted him absent-mindedly.

“You okay?” Steve asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Bucky said.

“You didn’t hit your head or anything?”

“Nope,” Bucky said, with more confidence then he felt. “Managed to sit down this time. I’ve just been chilling here since then.”

“Do you think you’re going to be able to go to Natasha’s tonight?”

Bucky gritted his teeth and shook his head.

Steve sighed again. “I’ll call her.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said desperately. “You can go! You should still go!”

Steve rolled his eyes and got up, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Bucky didn’t bother to try and listen to his conversation with Natasha.

“Think you can make it downstairs?” Steve asked, kneeling next to him again.

Bucky slowly sat upright. His head swam after even that minor movement.

“No,” he said dully. He carefully got to his feet and tried to take a step forward to his room. His balance was still off, though, and he would have hit the floor again if Steve hadn’t caught him.

Steve basically carried Bucky into the room and helped him crawl onto the bed.

 

The pain was the worst part of all of it, though. Bucky’s head hurt constantly. Sometimes it was worse, sometimes it was a little better, but it never actually stopped hurting.

Most of the time it was just a dull ache. It wasn’t excruciating, but it was irritating and distracting. Occasionally the pain grew sharper, and that was even more uncomfortable. Still, he could usually ignore it and continue about his day. Sometimes, though, the dull ache turned into a loud, throbbing pain that felt like his skull was going to explode. Sharper lines of pain would start to criss-cross all over his head, and usually then the other symptoms like dizziness and nausea would start.

He’d talked to his doctors about it. They said that most of the pain was a result of the head trauma he’d suffered, and that it _might_ get better with time. The tension in his shoulders and neck from that pain caused a chronic tension headache, which in turn triggered the migraine-like headaches that he got more rarely. They explained that there was nothing to be done about it, other than avoiding things like stressful situations, caffeine, flashing lights, etc etc. They’d given Bucky some very heavy duty painkillers, which he took only when he absolutely needed them.

 

He tried not to let it interfere with his life. He went to work every day, and sat under the fluorescent office lights and stared at his computer screen. He finished his tasks while ignoring the pain in his head. He went home and made dinner and hung out with Steve and ignored the pain in his head. He took his siblings to the park and to the beach and ignored the pain in his head.

He was irritable all the time. He tried not to be, he really did. It wasn’t a part of his personality. Bucky had always been laid-back and friendly. He’d always been the calm one in a situation, the one who didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

But right then, Steve had left his breakfast dishes in the sink AGAIN instead of putting them in the dishwasher like a reasonable person would.

“It’s not that hard!” Bucky shouted, storming out to the living room where Steve was sitting with a book. “To put your goddamnn breakfast dishes in the goddamn dishwasher!”

Steve looked up from his book, his eyebrows raised. He stared at Bucky.

Bucky forced himself to take a deep breath. “Just… just put your dishes in the dishwasher, okay?”

Steve sat there and said nothing.

Bucky scowled. He stormed back into the kitchen and kept cleaning, slamming dishes into the dishwasher and the sink. One of the bowls he tried to jam into the top dishwasher rack shattered as it hit another bowl.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered. He leaned back against the counter, rubbing at his forehead.

When he opened his eyes again, Steve was kneeling next to the dishwasher. He carefully pulled the pieces of glass out as Bucky watched.

“Sorry,” Bucky said dully.

“It’s okay,” Steve said as he worked. “We’ve got tons of bowls.”

“No, about…” Bucky said slowly. “About yelling at you. I didn’t mean it.”

Steve sighed and got back to his feet. “I know, Buck.”

Bucky crossed his arms, staring at the floor. “Still sorry.”

“Bucky.”

Bucky finally sighed and looked up.

Steve was carefully wrapping up the broken pieces of glass, but he paused and met Bucky’s eyes. “Look, Buck, I don’t… I don’t know what it’s like to be you, okay? I know you’re in pain all the time, and I don’t want to even pretend to understand what that’s like. I mean, I honestly don’t even know how you do all the things you do. I don’t know how you get up every morning and go to work. And I understand that being in pain all the time sometimes makes you…”

“A jerk?” Bucky supplied helpfully.

“No,” Steve said, and rolled his eyes. “Irritable, maybe.”

Bucky sighed and returned to staring at the floor. “Doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you.”

Steve shrugged. “No, but I’m the only person who lives with you so sometimes that happens.”

“Ugh,” Bucky muttered.

“Besides,” Steve said. “It wasn’t my favourite bowl that you broke. So.”

Bucky laughed despite himself. “Why do you have a favourite bowl? They’re all generic ceramic shit that we got at the dollar store that one time.”

“My favourite is the one that doesn’t have any chips or cracks in it!”

“Maybe we should actually buy some real dishes at some point,” Bucky said.

Steve made a face. “Or we could spend that money on gas for the car.”

“True.”

 

They pretended like Bucky’s problems didn’t really affect their lives, but it did. Bucky was pretty sure that his sex life with Steve would be classified as ‘amazing’, but of course Bucky’s issues got in the way of that too.

They were making out on the couch one evening, some terrible nature documentary playing in the background. Bucky was enjoying himself, he really was. But right now his head was hurting so badly that every movement sent spikes of pain through his eyes, and the feeling of Steve’s hands against him was just too much.

“Stop,” Bucky mumbled. He pushed gently back against Steve’s shoulder.

To Steve’s credit, he scrambled off of Bucky so quickly that he nearly fell off the couch.

“What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously.

“Nothing,” Bucky said automatically, even as he dug the heels of his hands into his forehead. “I’m – it’s fine.”

“Bucky –“

“Here,” Bucky said. He leaned forward, reaching for Steve’s jeans. “Just let me get you off instead, it’s fine – “

“No,” Steve said firmly, pushing Bucky’s hands away. “Bucky, stop. It’s okay.”

Bucky gave up, slumping back onto the pillows miserably. He grabbed one and pressed it over his face, trying not to sigh at how good the dark and quiet felt.

“We can just watch the show,” Steve’s muffled voice said. Bucky felt him settle down against next to Bucky on the couch.

“It’s boring,” Bucky mumbled.

“Hey, I picked it. It’s not boring.”

“I don’t give a fuck about flamingos, Steve.”

“Hey, this documentary is award winning.”

“Yeah, the award for the most boring documentary, maybe.”

Steve laughed. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s pretty bad.”

Bucky lay on the couch with the pillow over his face and tried not to scream in frustration.

 

Bucky had painkillers. He had some very, _very_ heavy duty painkillers. His doctors had given them to him only a few weeks after he’d left the hospital, back when he’d still been disorientated and confused. Bucky vaguely remembered slumping in a chair next to Steve and Natasha, not paying attention at all to the conversation. Words like ‘disability’ and ‘permanent’ were being tossed around, and Bucky didn’t really want to hear it.

He rarely ever took his painkillers. He only really used them when the pain got really bad, and even then sometimes it didn’t help. The trick was, he’d learned, to take them just when the headache started to get worse. If he let it go any longer than that, it was too late for the painkillers to really have any noticeable effects.

He tried his best to use them sparingly. He knew how incredibly addictive they were, and how damaging their long term use could be. He’d read all the warning labels, listened to all the speeches from his doctors.

They really did work, and _fuck_ they felt good.

Bucky didn’t get high off them at all. All they did was make him drowsy and groggy. But still, the absence of pain was like nothing else in the entire world. Bucky had completely forgotten what it was like to exist without constant pain scratching away at the back of his mind.

He never took them at work. They made him too sleepy and confused, and there was no way he’d be able to continue working like that. Normally he waited until he got home to take a few.

He’d toss them back quickly and then drink some water. He would wander over to the couch and turn the tv on, usually flipping to some reality show that didn’t require a lot of brain power to watch.

Then he’d just wait. They usually took about ten minutes to start to kick in, but it would take about twenty before Bucky would really notice the effects. He’d be lying there, staring at the tv, when he’d realize how calm he felt. How much better and easier everything seemed. That wasn’t the narcotics talking, either. It just the blessed absence of pain. There were no words to describe how good it felt, to be free from the constant ache in his head.

It never lasted long. If he was lucky, he’d get an hour out of it before his head would start to ache again. Usually the pain would come back with a vengeance, and he’d have to choose between just dealing with it and taking more painkillers.

He started taking them more frequently.

 

Bucky wasn’t stupid. He knew what was happening. He realized that his body was becoming more and more tolerant to the drugs. The more he took, the more he needed in order to get the same level of relief. He knew what was going on, he just thought that he could get a handle on it himself.

Of course, it turned out that he couldn’t.

He missed four days of work one week. He told his boss that it was because he’d caught the flu. His boss told him to take as much time as he needed, rather than coming back to work too early and making the rest of the office sick. Bucky felt _kind_ of badly about lying, but not badly enough to fix it.

In reality, he was just taking three times the recommended dose of his painkillers and they made him too sleepy to go to work.

Bucky was happily curled up in his bed, buried under his blankets. Steve had left for work hours ago, and Bucky had been drifting in and out of sleep ever since.

The sound of the front door opening and closing told Bucky that Steve was home. Sergeant sat up from where he lay next to Bucky and barked excitedly. Bucky was too sleepy to tell him to stop.

He heard footsteps on the stairs. Steve walked into the room a moment later. Bucky didn’t bother lifting his head.

“Bucky.”

“Mhmm,” Bucky mumbled.

“Did you skip work again today?”

“Hmmm,” Bucky grunted.

“You’re not sick, Bucky. Don’t even try and lie to me.”

“Wasn’ goin’ to,” Bucky said into the blankets.

“I’m not doing this,” Steve said. His voice was cold and angry.

“Wha’?” Bucky mumbled. He tried to sit up, but he was tired and loopy and just flopped back down on the pillows again. “What… what’re you talkin’ about?”

Steve was standing in front of him, his arms crossed. “How many of those did you take today?”

“I dunno,” Bucky said honestly. He peered at Steve with blearily eyes.

Steve didn’t move. “Throw them out.”

“What?” Bucky said again. “No.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not doing this, Bucky. I’m not your parent. I’m not going to tell you what to do. But you get this under control, right now, before it gets worse. You know I’m always here for you, Buck, for whatever you need. But I’m not going to sit here and watch this happen.”

“Steve,” Bucky said groggily, but Steve had already walked out of the room. Bucky flopped back down on the pillows, absent-mindedly wrapping an arm around Sergeant. The dog licked his face and then laid down with his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

The next morning, Bucky walked into the kitchen while Steve was making himself breakfast. Bucky threw his hoard of painkillers into the garbage can and walked back out.

 

They didn’t speak to each other for two days, which was difficult considering they slept in the same bed.

“Bucky,” Steve said on the third night. They were both lying in bed in silence, the lights long since turned off. Neither of them were sleeping.

“I wasn’t…” Steve said slowly. “I wasn’t trying to push you, or anything. I was just worried.”

Bucky stared into the darkness and didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know what’s going on right now,” Steve said quietly. “I don’t know if you’re angry with me or what, but if you are, I’m sorry, Bucky. But I don’t regret telling you to stop taking your painkillers like that.”

“I’m not angry with you.”

Steve sighed. “Then why won’t you talk to me?”

Bucky finally rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “What’s going on with you?”

Bucky closed his eyes. “I just want to go to sleep.”

“Okay, fine,” Steve said. “Sorry.”

It was quiet for a few minutes. Bucky opened his eyes and traced the familiar cracks in the wood ceiling with his eyes.

“My head hurts,” Bucky said quietly. “It hurts and it never stops hurting and it might never stop hurting. And there’s nothing anyone can do about that.”

Steve was quiet.

“I know it’s not as bad as some people have,” Bucky said. “And it’s not really that bad in the grand scheme of things.”

“Still,” Steve said.

“Still,” Bucky continued. “It’s frustrating. And I’m tired of it.”

Steve sighed. “Anything I can do?”

“No,” Bucky said dully. “Nothing more than you’re already doing.”

“I’d fix it for you if I could.”

“I know,” Bucky said. He closed his eyes again.

There weren’t any easy solutions here. There really was nothing that could be done. The only thing Bucky could do was what he was already doing, which was continuing on with his life in as normal a fashion as possible.

 

He stumbled onto a forum for people with chronic pain one day while he was on the internet. He scrolled through it for less than a minute before he closed it again.

All the people on there were people with true problems and pain. People with fibromyalgia, arthritis, cystic fibrosis. People who’d been injured in war, in car crashes, at work. People who couldn’t get out of bed, and people who weren’t even able to leave the hospital.

It made Bucky feel sick about complaining about his own life. His pain was nothing in comparison to these people. He could get up in the morning. He could go to work, and get paid fairly well for the work he did there. He had lots of friends and he had a family. He was in a relationship with Steve, which pretty much made him the luckiest person alive. Hell, he could even go jogging with Steve on weekends. By anyone’s assessment, Bucky’s life was pretty good.

He continued to have flares of irritation and frustration about it. About how he had to do everything a regular, healthy person did, except he had to do it with a fucking pounding headache and jolts of pain every time he blinked or moved too much.

There was no magical solution to it. Bucky went back to sleep that night, and woke up the next morning. He forced himself to get out of bed a little early, and made breakfast for Steve as an apology for being rude the last few days.

He went back to work the next week. He sat at his desk and joked with his coworkers. He went home every evening, walked Sergeant, and then hung out with Steve until it was finally an acceptable time to go to bed. He visited his family and tried not to wince every time his sisters shrieked too loudly. He and Steve went out to a nice restaurant for once on Saturday, to celebrate getting their paychecks. Steve somehow managed to spill wine over both of them, and Bucky laughed all the way home.

His life was good. Bucky was happy. He just… would have been a lot happier if his head didn’t hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> I told you that no happiness lay here. I did warn you
> 
> [Sometimes happiness is here, though. Sometimes not.](http://cameronwolfe.tumblr.com)


End file.
